


You Are What I'm Here For

by NixiNonna88



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixiNonna88/pseuds/NixiNonna88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sherlock kisses John And, the one time John kisses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are What I'm Here For

I.

 

"John?" The sound of his name from Sherlock's lips had the walls he slammed up to hide his pain start to crumble. His mouth went dry, his heart thudding so hard and fast it made him dizzy. Even if he could speak he wouldn't know what to ask. He felt numb all over.

_How are you alive? Why did you leave me behind? It's been six months. Six agonizing months._

He closed his eyes, and just breathed for a minute. When the knot in his guts loosened a little, he opened his eyes. Sherlock still looked the same. Tall and slim. Smooth, pale skin. Dark hair falling carelessly around a thin, serious face. His eyes intently focused on John.

"John? .. John  _please_?" Sherlock was frowning, fiercely and eyes were pleading and sad.

It pissed him the hell off.  _What right did he have to be sad?_

Rage, perfect and pure, sparked to life in John. His mind raced, all chaos and emotion, instinct and reaction. It was a rage so raw, so powerful, that it controlled him completely. The pain inside him was so intense that he feared it would cripple him.

With a savage growl of outrage erupting from his chest, John rushed forward, seeing red—the whole scene taking place within a mere span of seconds. John knocked Sherlock onto his back, right on the floor of their old flat. Clambering on to him and pinning him to the floor.

John breathed in hard and deep and fought back the emotion clawing at his chest, at his throat. All the words unsaid threating to choke him.

He is pounding furiously on Sherlock's chest with fists _. "You're a bastard! An utter bastard!"_

He only stops when Sherlock reaches up and places a hard hand on his cheek. It freezes him and John doesn't know how to react. Then Sherlock pushes himself up on one elbow. Closing the space between them and kisses him. Soft, clumsy, gentle, and hesitant.

John's heart thuds painfully against his ribcage and his hands shook. He let out a soft little choking sound and clutches at Sherlock with a desperate strength. He buried his face in the curve of Sherlock's neck, his body shaking with deep, ragged sobs.

Sherlock held him just as tight, his hand moving in soothing circles on his back. His mouth moving in small kisses from his cheek to his neck, to his shoulders and to the top of John's head.

Sherlock just keeps kissing him as John sobs into his neck. One hand over the top of Sherlock's heart.

Just so he could be sure.

 

 

II.

It's been two weeks since Sherlock came back. Two weeks and John can't sleep. The fear eats away at his bones. The fear that he'll wake up and Sherlock won't be there and he will be all alone again.

In his nightmares he watches Sherlock fall and over and over.

Something warm moves against his skin. "John, wake up," a voice murmured in his ear. John wakes with a start, heart racing. The room was dark. A faint glow from the streetlight outside leaked in around the edge of the curtains.

John turned and Sherlock was staring at him from the other side of the bed, pinning with a with a sorrowful look. John doesn't know when or how Sherlock makes his way into John's bed every night.

He just adds it to the growing list of things they don't talk about.

Sherlock stares at him for another minute longer, his eyes telling him the words he won't say.  _I'd die before I leave again. Believe me._

Sherlock's hand is in his and John squeezes it as he catches his breathe. Keeps holding on to his hand, because he is here, alive, and, for as long as this lasts, he doesn't want to let go.

Hesitantly, as if he was unsure of himself, Sherlock cups his cheek in one hand, and captures John's mouth in a gentle kiss, before gently shoving him back down in the lying position. Arms wound around his waist, and Sherlock's hard angled body pressed to his back. After a moment, John's shoulders began to shake.

Sherlock just strokes his back, kisses his hair, whispering nonsense impossible promises into his ear. John doesn't think Sherlock notices his own tears. When John finally lays still and quiet in Sherlock's arms, he lets exhaustion pull him down into welcome oblivion.

 

III.

 

Sherlock decided kissing him is just something he could do now, when he wanted to.

They were in the middle of case involving multiple victims who were all beat to death with a sledge hammer. It was John who made the deductions about the injuries of the murder victims. Noting they were all blows to the left side of the head from the back. And, stating before Sherlock could, that the killer had to be left handed.

John had made a clever deduction if he did say so himself.  _Apparently Sherlock thought so too._ Sherlock is giving him this small, sly, tilted grin, that John refuses to acknowledge does something to his heart rate. Sherlock tugs on John's arm and starts dragging him out of the hotel room.

Lestrade is shouting from behind them and demanding answers but Sherlock is as he always is, not phased by Lestrade's ire and just shouts something about looking for a tall, limping, left-handed man, who smokes cigars.

All the while dragging John down the hallway. After a moment Sherlock stops so suddenly that John almost runs right into him.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

_"Brillant!"_  Sherlock exclaimed excitedly bouncing on his toes.

"Huh?" But the question dies on the his tongue because in the next moment Sherlock is suddenly stepping towards John and seizing his head in his hands and kissing him passionately. There was nothing hesitant about Sherlock's kisses now.

John knew they would have to stop; that they couldn't do this in the middle of the hallway where it would be just a matter of time before they got caught, but it felt so good he didn't want to let go. It was Sherlock who pulled away. His eyes were dark and his hair was tousled to John's surprise, as this could only have been his doing. He pulled his fingers away from the soft curls that twined so eagerly around them and took a deep breath. Sherlock's forehead rested against his for just a moment, so fleeting that John thought he had imagined it.

In the next breath Sherlock was striding away like nothing happened and mumbling something about examining a corpse.

And, for a second John wished they just talk about this kissing habit Sherlock's developed. In the back of his head, a little voice was whispering mockingly. _"You're too afraid to open that box .You don't wish that. You know you don't.. "_

And he didn't, not really. Except sometimes, he did

 

IV.

A cold hand on his back awakens John, Sherlock always has cold hands. He was on his stomach on his bed and as he peered through his barely opened eyelids, he saw the space next to him was empty. As he turned his face on the pillow, he could still smell Sherlock on the bedding. When John finally opened his eyes completely, he found himself staring into Sherlock's eyes. Eyes which were far too intent and observant for this early in the morning.

When you are sharing a bed with someone ( and kissing them from time to time) you would expect waking to them to be a pleasurable morning wake up.

When you are sharing a bed with Sherlock that means bad news for you. It means John's about to be roped into another experiment. He glances at the old fashioned alarm clock on his nightstand. Glad to see it is still in working order. Sherlock has a tendency to take apart machinery while John is sleeping to entertain himself.

"Didn't we agree on no experiments before 7:00 am, Sherlock?"

"I'm not experimenting on you. Just confirming earlier data."

"That isn't as reassuring as you think." John mutters as he rolls over on to his back. Sherlock frowns at him from over his notebook.

"I think you'll like this experiment." Before John even had a chance to wonder Sherlock leaned forward and slanted his mouth over Johns. His tongue demanded entrance while he ran his hands over John's chest.

"Mmm..." Arching into the touch felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.

Catching John's hands, Sherlock placed them by Johns's sides. He pulled away from John's lips, his breath coming faster. "Keep them there."

"We are doing experiment in erogenous zones. I think I know where all of yours are. I want to prove it." Sherlock licked his lips and smiled that half smile does something funny to Johns heart beat.

A dazed smile spread across John's face. He reached out to touch Sherlock's cheek "Anything for science."

But what he meant was  _Anything for you…_

 

 

V.

 

It takes John longer then he would like to figure out why Sherlock is in such a mood all night.

His comments were snippy and rude, and crueler then usual. John ends up dragging them out of Greg's party early . It was all he could do to rein in the need to pull at every hair in this head. Sherlock Holmes had a habit of doing that to a person. He raised a person's frustration level just by being in the same room with them.

They don't talk the entire cab ride home. Mostly out of spite, because he wants to show Sherlock he's angry he caused them to leave. John was having fun. Greg and him and built an easy friendship of sorts while Sherlock was gone.

But, then the anger turns to worry when John notices that Sherlock's whole body is tight with tension and a nerve in his cheek begins to twitch.

John ever aware of Sherlock's hands, know they keep unclenching and clenching like he isn't sure what to do with them.

_Sherlock isn't the only one who is aware of things._

No one breaks the silence as John unlocks the front door and with an eye roll and huff Sherlock attempts to walk right by him as if he isn't there.

Johns brows snapped into frown.

_Oh no you don't._

His fingers curled around Sherlock's upper arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Why are you being such a git?" Sherlock's expression tightened, his gaze narrowing on John.

"Piss off." Sherlock ordered, his voice rough. He attempted to back away from John, nearly stumbling as John refused to budge. John has seen many of Sherlock's moods but this one is utterly foreign to him. It is also the first time Sherlock's anger has been directly pointed at him before.

The next thing John knew Sherlock was grabbing him by the waist, turning him and pushing him against the stairwell wall a second before Sherlock's lips possessed his. His tongue pushed between them, and he was taking what he wanted. There was no question of giving it to him, because he didn't ask for a damned thing.

"Sherlock." John couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. But he didn't care. He didn't want to stop. Raw, scraping sounds of demand vibrated in his throat, with the waves of lust imposing havoc on his thinking ability.

He felt Sherlock's mouth press against the rapid flutter of his jugular , felt the erotic slid of his teeth as he stroked them across his vulnerable flesh before he bit down-hard sure enough to leave a bruise and maybe draw a hint of blood.

"Now everyone can see who you belong to. Even Lestrade." Sherlock snarled down at him as his head lowered. His lips buried in his neck again, his tongue lapping over the mark he just made with quick heated strokes as John jerked against him.

_He was Jealous. Sherlock was jealous._

Sherlock bit his ear just before he growled into it.  _"Mine."_ His eyes flashed ownership at him. John found himself lost in a dark stare so hot, so possessive, his breath caught with a hitch.

John reached out and brushed back a curling wisp of hair that had stuck to Sherlock's head. The other clamped on Sherlock's hip as he held Sherlock to him.

"You're mine!" The declaration was made with a rough demand. "Say it, John. Mine."

_"Yours,"_  He panted. John wasn't about to argue. Not now. Not when he could stop and take the incredible sensations away from him.

The rest is lost in teeth nibbling, urgent, frantic, kisses so rough his lips bleed. His eyes roll back and all thoughts melt away with the grinding of Sherlock's hips. John thought of nothing expect that desire. Lost in the feel of his hands on his hips, & his lips moving against his skin as he huskily whispers his name. He tangles his fingers in Sherlock's hair and pulls him closer.

" _Yours. Always yours."_

 

 

_VI._

 

It was John's worse nightmare playing out before him. Sherlock was falling. Falling through the open window, and John was painfully aware that he wouldn't get to him in time. His heart drops to his stomach as fear tears through him. John is supposed to protect Sherlock. But, he keeps failing. If John loses him again it would destroy him now. It would kill him. Because without Sherlock, John would be lost. He's convinced that if anything happened to Sherlock now he would simply cease to exist. If Sherlock couldn't make it out if that warehouse. John wouldn't make it out of there alive. It was that simple.

The moment Sherlock disappears from view John is moving down and out of the warehouse. Moving faster then he ever thought he could. When it makes it outside he is out of breath, there is a stich in his side, head is throbbing, and there is something warm dripping down on his shoulder. But, for the life of him John can't remember why that was important.

All he can think of is  _Sherlock.. Sherlock.. Sherlock._

When he sees Sherlock, he is standing next to Lestrade, both of them surrounding the murder who is in a crumbled heap on pavement around a halo of broken glass. Sherlock is looking smug. John doesn't know if he wants to murder him or kiss him.

_He's fine. That was all that mattered_

Sherlock is frowning fiercely at him when he catches sight of him. And, John is aware Sherlock is talking at him and Lestrade is gesturing something. But, John doesn't care.

He grabs Sherlock by the front of his purple shirt, startling him. His hand grabs the back of his neck and kisses him, a hard, strong, passionate kiss that let him know he so damn glad Sherlock was alive.

Sherlock placed his hand on John's chest and mumbled against his mouth "I'll try to stop falling off of things."

John can't help but let out a loud laugh.

"If you stop getting hit on the head."

They both smile. " I think we can make that work."


End file.
